


Help Wanted

by Gin_Juice



Series: picture book [13]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Dave is the world's most patient boyfriend, Dysfunctional Family, Family Dinners, Family Dynamics, Klaus has never had a job before and it really shows, No Apocalypse, Past Drug Use, Post-Canon, neither has Ben but BOY is he excited to help out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:20:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22322446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gin_Juice/pseuds/Gin_Juice
Summary: “Okay!” Klaus clicked a pen with a flourish and leaned over the job application spread out across the coffee table. “What are my skills?”“We-e-ell, I guess the obvious answer is talking to ghosts, but I don’t think you should write that.”“No, no, definitely not.” Klaus tapped his fingers. “I can run pretty fast?”He knew for a fact that he could outrun an easy two-thirds of the NYPD. If that wasn’t a useful skill, he’d eat his own hat.---------------------------Klaus looks for a job, and finds a new direction in life.
Series: picture book [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1335751
Comments: 66
Kudos: 413





	Help Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series, but you don't have to read previous installments to follow along- Basically, the Apocalypse has been averted, and the kids are trying to be a real family. The boys plus ghost Ben and Dave are living at the Academy. Ben is learning to cook and has acquired a pair of cats, who the readers helped me name Merry and Cthulhu. Klaus has been staying sober and learning to control his powers, and Dave recently suggested he get a job to have something to do all day. There's also a ghost of a random old guy who checks in on them and tries (and mostly fails) to help them all make better life decisions.

Klaus had never envisioned himself leading the nine-to-five life.

He was a free spirit. A bon vivant. A creative type, who had just never gotten around to creating anything.

He wasn’t built for meetings and punch cards and annual performance reviews—he was built for fun. A pleasure cruiser of a person.

Thing was, though, being both sober and bone idle wasn’t exactly a thrill a minute. He found ways to amuse himself, sure, but there were long stretches of boredom in between adventures. He felt a little lonely, some days. Felt like climbing the walls, on others.

He felt less like a pleasure cruiser all of the time, and more like a party boat that had gotten lost at sea.

By that point, he was all in on sobriety, thanks to the nice things that came along with it. But the ‘bone idle’ part of the equation was a variable he could still change.

“Okay!” Klaus clicked a pen with a flourish and leaned over the job application spread out across the coffee table. “What are my skills?”

Ben, who was reclining on the sofa, relocated the cat standing on his face to his chest.

“We-e-ell,” he said slowly as he fondled her right ear, “I guess the obvious answer is talking to ghosts, but I don’t think you should write that.”

“No, no, definitely not.” Klaus tapped his fingers on the table. “I can run pretty fast?”

He knew for a fact that he could outrun an _easy_ two-thirds of the NYPD. If that wasn’t a useful skill, he’d eat his own hat.

Not that he owned a hat. They just weren’t flattering to his facial structure.

“True, but… Eh.” Ben scrunched up his nose at the ceiling. “Maybe, like, other physical fitness stuff? I bet you have to pick up heavy things at grocery stores sometimes. Being in shape might give you an edge.”

Klaus clicked the pen again in excitement. “I can pick Five up! What’s he, like a buck twenty?”

Dave reached over and stopped him from scribbling how much he could deadlift on the paper.

“Don’t put that, sweetheart. Not that it isn’t great, but that’s not what they’re looking for on a job application.”

Klaus lurched backwards, holding the pen high above his head so Dave couldn’t take it from him.

“Really, Dave?” he asked. “That’s not what they’re looking for on a job application? How did _you_ used to apply for jobs, again? I know you told me, but I forgot.”

Dave winced.

“Come on, Katz,” Klaus urged sweetly. “So the people in the back can hear you.”

“I… just walked in and asked,” Dave said, with clear reluctance. He sounded like he was repenting of a sin.

Klaus craned around to the sofa. “Hear that, Ben? That’s where I’ve been going wrong! All I have to do is march myself into any business that catches my fancy, and say ‘One job, please! I will take my accompanying bucket of money to go.’”

Diplomat and/or coward that he was, Ben removed himself from the discussion by burying his face in the ruff of fur around his cat’s neck.

“Who’s my big black lion?” he crooned. “You’re my big black lion!”

“It was a different time,” Dave said plaintively.

The cat held a steady gaze at Klaus like it was asking for help.

He ignored all of them and bent back over the coffee table.

“Yes, dearest, I know,” he said, jotting down _‘Can lift 120 lbs’_ on the application. “Bread only cost a nickel and you had to walk to school uphill both ways in the snow with your brother on your back. What other skills do I have?”

“Uh… you’re outgoing? You’d be good at customer service stuff, probably,” said Ben.

“Ooh!” Klaus wriggled his bare toes. “’Friendly, approachable, and raised in a racially-diverse household.’ Beautiful! I’d hire me.”

Dave rubbed his jaw while Klaus wrote. “Again, honey. Not really something that belongs on a job application.”

Klaus held back a sigh. Dave gave great advice most of the time, but he’d been off the employment market for the entire 21st century.

Klaus, by contrast, had checked out a book on job hunting from the library and read three random pages from the middle, so he was basically an expert on the subject. Cultural sensitivity was _so_ hot right now.

“Alright.” Klaus clasped his hands over the papers. “What do you suggest?”

“Well… you speak like eight different languages.”

“Oh, yeah!” Ben sat up a little bit. The cat swatted his nose in warning. “That’s good, write that.”

Klaus gazed into Dave’s eyes across the coffee table. He was so beautiful. So pure. Such a dumb blonde sometimes.

“David,” he said in disappointment. “How many international visitors do you think the local grocery store is getting?”

Ben sagged back down onto the sofa. “Not many,” he agreed. “Good point.”

“It’s always useful to know more than one language,” Dave insisted. “Someone asked you for directions in Spanish just the other day, remember?”

“Yeah, but that’s—“ Klaus clucked his tongue and waved a hand in dismissal. “That barely counts for anything. Everybody kinda sorta knows Spanish these days.”

“I don’t,” said Dave. “Diego doesn’t.”

Wasn’t that the truth. The lost tourist they’d crossed paths with earlier that week had actually approached Diego first, and he’d immediately turned into a flustered mess as he stammered out _‘No hablo… Espanisho?’_

Klaus smiled into space at the memory. Quality comedy, that.

“Klaus?” Dave prompted. “You’ll write that you’re fluent in Spanish?”

Klaus reached over and patted his hand. “Of course, my darling,” he promised, as he wrote _‘Nine months sober’_ instead.

That would show that he was capable of commitment, and wasn’t afraid of hard work.

Ben suddenly gasped. “Oh, I got one! You know how to use a fax machine!”

Klaus tapped a finger against his temple and pointed at him. “How are you so good at this?” he asked. “I should just have you fill this thing out for me.”

Ben beamed at him.

Dave sighed deeply.

The cat yawned in disinterest.

{}{}{}{}{}

Klaus twirled out of his bedroom and struck a pose against the doorframe.

“Ta-dah!” he sang. “How do I look?”

Ben gave him a critical once-over.

“Like a live-action Lisa Frank poster,” he decided. “Where did you even _find_ pants that purple?”

“I stole them off some girl in rehab years ago. They still fit!” Klaus scooted towards him, butt-first. “You like?”

“At least they don’t lace up,” Ben said diplomatically.

The grocery store hadn’t called him to schedule an interview—yet—but the hardware store a few blocks over was looking for a part-time cashier. Klaus knew zilch about hardware (though he was an expert on screws, ha!), but the old Australian guy who haunted their hallways had told him that if he got the job, he’d tag along on his shifts and show him what was what.

Dave had offered, too, but Klaus changed the subject whenever it came up.

Not that he wouldn’t love hanging out with him all day. He would, it was just… well, Dave was _always_ helping him, wasn’t he? Reminding him where he’d left his keys, and singing The Kinks songs in his ear when the other ghosts were being too loud at night. Fixing his tea just the way he liked it and keeping him company while he bathed, because he knew how much Klaus loved having his hair shampooed.

He wanted to do this on his own. Or, at least as much as he ever did anything on his own.

He could picture coming home from a long day of work, and telling Dave how it had gone and what a good job he was doing, and Dave listening with soft eyes and a face full of pride.

Klaus _wanted_ that.

The hardware store was very small and the linoleum was scuffed to hell, but it was brightly painted and cheery inside. There were potted palm fronds for sale next to the counter, and they added a flair of the exotic to the place.

Klaus stopped at the cash register.

“Hello!” he greeted the man behind it. “I’m here to drop off an application for the cashier job.”

The man looked up from the wrestling magazine he was skimming. He was around Klaus’s age, with an angular face and a nametag that read ‘…im.’

Had it originally been Tim? Jim? Sim, even, as in Simon? There was no telling.

“Oh. Okay.” He picked up the papers Klaus had slid across the counter and glanced over them. “The manager left out early today, but I’ll make sure he gets these.”

Ben leaned in to whisper in Klaus’s ear. “The references.”

Klaus rested his elbows on the counter. “Thanks! I did have one question, though— in the reference section, can I write a note about good times to contact my current boss? He’s a little particular.”

Klaus’s ‘current boss’ was going to be Five. They had worked out a backstory and invented all the relevant details, but under no circumstances did Klaus want anybody to call him before ten in the morning.

He was a _grouchy_ little gremlin early in the a.m.

Hardware Tim shrugged and pushed the papers back to him. “If you want. Need a pen?”

“I have my own!” Klaus told him proudly, and unzipped his coat to get it from the inside pocket.

He’d read almost half of the job hunting book now, and it had said that it was important to always bring writing utensils along with you.

Who knew that it would pay off so fast? Man, he was crushing it today!

Klaus jotted down his note on the application, and looked up to find Hardware Jim staring at him with an odd look on his face.

“Are you wearing a woman’s shirt?” he asked slowly.

Klaus glanced down at his chest. The shirt in question was a black and white polka dot number with a ruffled collar that he’d taken off of Allison’s hands. Very tasteful, if he could say so himself, and almost boringly modest.

“Oh, men’s shirts, women’s shirts, what’s the difference?” he scoffed. He threw in an affable eyeroll to make it clear that he’d be an easy-going co-worker. “The important part is how you wear it, no?”

He took a step backwards and spread his arms to show off the full ensemble. He’d been going for a kind of ‘funky high school art teacher’ vibe, and, not to hoot his own horn, but he had freaking _nailed_ it.

Hardware Vim absorbed the sight of the very purple pants in silence.

“Okay,” he said with a touch of awkwardness. He picked up the job application by the corner. “I’ll, uh… make sure the manager sees this.”

They looked at each other over the counter for a moment.

Hardware Pim’s mouth twisted into something that was probably supposed to be a smile, but looked more like a grimace.

“Have a nice day.”

Klaus let his arms fall to his sides.

“You, too.”

In the bracing chill of the outdoors, he spun on his heel to face Ben and clapped his hands together.

“So!” he said brightly. “That application is going straight into the trash can.”

Ben made a face as a passing teenager walked right through him. “Well, it… Yeah, no, it is,” he conceded. “Sorry, dude.”

Klaus shrugged and began heading down the street towards home. “What can you do?” he asked. “Some people just can’t appreciate my impeccable sartorial taste. I pity them and their sweat-stained wifebeaters.”

He was doing his damnedest to be glib, but in truth, he was more than a little disappointed.

Where was a can to kick when you needed one? He felt like he should have a good kicking can.

Ben fell into step beside him, watching his face.

“Maybe you should dress a little more conservatively?” he suggested, sounding like he was fully expecting to get cracked across the mouth for his trouble. “You know, like… how men usually dress?”

Klaus frowned down at himself. Was this not conservative? His ankle boots didn’t have a heel or decorative studs or _anything._ He might as well have been a cowboy. The unsexy kind.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with what you’re wearing,” Ben hastened to add. He waved his hands around in a series of gestures that didn’t actually mean anything. “It’s just—I think—Maybe your clothing is drawing attention away from other stuff about you. That’s all.”

…Okay. Maybe.

Thirty minutes later, Klaus twirled out of his bedroom and struck a pose against the doorway.

“Ta-dah!” he sang. “How do I look?”

“I… need a second.” Ben bit his knuckle. “This is new. Wow.”

Klaus was modelling their father’s least dweeby dress shoes, a seldom-worn pair of Wranglers he’d liberated from Diego’s room, and a gray Polo shirt that must have been a very snug fit on Luther even before his transformation.

“I don’t want to say that I hate it,” Ben muttered to himself. “But.”

A door clicked shut somewhere down the hall.

“Klaus?” Allison’s voice called. “Is that you?”

She rounded the corner a split second later, her makeup only halfway done and her hair hanging damp down her back. Six months ago, she wouldn’t have been caught dead walking around the house like that. It was how Klaus knew she loved them.

“There you guys are, I’ve been looking for you! I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me to…”

She stopped mid-sentence and stared at him agog.

Her mouth snapped shut.

“Okay, I get it,” she said confidently. She moved her hand in a circle. “You’re being ironic.”

Klaus fiddled with the collar of his shirt, frowning. “I’m not.”

“Oh.” She tilted her head and studied his shoes. She did not look impressed. “Then… why are you dressed like that?”

Ben crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve decided,” he announced. “I _do_ hate it.”

“Are you… making fun of Five?”

“It looks so bad. Holy shit.”

“Oh my God! You don’t have to go to court, do you?”

“It’s like you’re wearing a disguise. Of someone super boring. Who I don’t want to hang out with.”

“It’s supposed to be my new job-hunting outfit.” Klaus tugged at the Polo shirt. It wasn’t his usual style, but it didn’t look as bad as all that, did it? “Maybe… maybe I should get khakis?”

“No!” Ben and Allison both exclaimed.

Allison relaxed and offered him an apologetic smile. “It doesn’t look horrible,” she said, “but it isn’t you.”

Ben was staring at his baggy jeans, making a face like he’d just sucked a lemon. “No, it _does_ look horrible,” he told Klaus seriously. “This was the stupidest idea I ever had. I’m really sorry, dude.”

Klaus looked down at his father’s shoes. They’d been handmade in Italy, and they looked like they belonged on someone whose idea of a rousing good time was shouting at their secretary.

He felt like he was a worse person just for putting them on.

He looked back up at Ben. “So what should I wear to interviews and stuff, then?” he asked.

“Well…” Ben sucked his teeth. “I guess what you usually wear? Go back to that.”

At Klaus’s expression, he held out his hands. “I mean, it’s not like you desperately _need_ a job. I think your fashion sense is going to turn some people off, but you can just try again someplace else. And words cannot express how lame you look right now, like, _fuck.”_

“You’re not hard up for money,” Allison agreed. “Someone in this city will hire you, even if you show up to work wearing my red silk scarf with the lilies on it.”

“I don’t have your scarf,” Klaus lied. “I keep telling you.”

“No? Where is it then, Klaus? Did it grow legs and walk away?”

“Check the lost and found,” he suggested, then darted back into his bedroom.

He took a second to examine himself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door before getting changed.

Cripes, Ben was right—he _did_ look horrible. And to think that he might have had to dress like this every day? Ugh. No fucking thank you. He had spent ten months cosplaying heteronormativity in Vietnam, and that performance did not need an encore.

And, honestly. What the shit would he have done with this job even if he’d gotten it? He didn’t want a dead guy walking him through every moment of the day, he wanted to be competent at something for once. Prove that he could be more than the class clown, when it suited him.

Klaus nudged off his left shoe, and looked down at it in contemplation.

…What happened to fine Italian leather when you put it in a microwave?

Inquiring minds needed to know.

{}{}{}{}{}

“FIIIIVE!” Klaus bellowed up the stairs.

“I’m in the bathroom,” a distant voice informed him.

Klaus jogged up to the third floor. “WHICH ONE?” he shouted. “MARCO!”

“Who’s Marco?” Five’s faint voice asked.

Klaus followed the sound down one of the corridors.

“HE WAS AN ITALIAN MERCHANT WHO TRAVELED THE SILK ROAD,” he explained. “LATER HE WROTE A BOOK THAT GAVE 13TH CENTURY EUROPEANS THEIR FIRST GLIMPSE AT WHAT ASIA—Aha, found you!”

The bathroom door was open, and Five was standing at the sink, looking wildly unexcited to learn about Marco Polo.

Klaus slapped out a rhythm against the top of the door frame. “Well, long story short, if someone yells ‘Marco!’ you’re supposed to yell back ‘Polo!’ Are you shaving? It looks like you’re shaving.”

He had just stared growing peach fuzz in the last few weeks. Klaus thought it was both adorable and ripe for mockery, but Ben the Buzzkill had made him swear he wouldn’t comment on it.

Five looked pointedly from the razor in his hand to the can of shaving cream on top of the toilet tank.

“Your deductive skills never cease to amaze.”

“Thank you!” Klaus chirped as Five leaned over the sink to inspect his face in the mirror. “Anyhoo, I was just coming to tell you that I dropped off an application to be a cleaner at this gym that’s about to open, so if they call, make sure you tell them I was responsible for mopping and shit at your very real shoe store that definitely exists.”

Five dabbed shaving cream over the hair dusting his upper lip.

“Two gym janitors in one family,” he commented. “We’re building a dynasty.”

“Oh, no, this place is so much nicer than Diego’s gym. It doesn’t smell like feet yet, and they have a pool, and there’s going to be— _Not against the grain, you hooligan!”_

Klaus lunged forward and snatched the razor from a startled Five’s grip.

“Are you _trying_ to get razor burn?” he demanded, shaking it at him. “Stars and garters! Where’d you learn to shave?”

“I’m self-taught,” Five said in a flat voice.

Oh. Duh. Pogo had shown the rest of them, after much trial and error on their own, and thank God for that. Klaus had kept nicking the same spot right above the bow of his lip. It had looked like a herpe.

He didn’t want that for Five. He wanted Five to remain a dewy-complected little murder baby for as long as nature would allow.

He stepped into the bathroom.

“Well!” he said. “Today is your lucky day, because I am willing to pass my facial hair expertise on to you. First lesson! That is way too much shaving cream.”

Five slapped at Klaus’s hand when he went to wipe it off.

“Stop that!” he snapped. “I am not letting you get near my face with anything sharp.”

“Why not?” Klaus whined. He tapped a finger against his own neatly-trimmed beard. “Look! No cuts, smooth skin, nice and even. I’m not going to flay you.”

Five studied Klaus’s face with narrowed eyes.

Klaus tensed. He knew that look. That was the look Five got when he was trying to decide whether or not to punch you, and the answer was almost invariably ‘yes.’

“Alright.” He gestured for Klaus to come stand at the sink. “You can show me.”

He said it like he was granting him a massive favor.

“Really? Neato!” Klaus turned on the tap to rinse the razor off.

“Okay, second lesson! When you’re going for a clean shave, first you want to give yourself a Hitler mustache so you can look at your reflection and laugh. Do that for a minute or two, and then start feeling bad because genocide isn’t a joke.”

“Shut up and just show me what to do,” Five ordered.

“I agree, you _should_ shut up! Okay, lesson numero tres…”

{}{}{}{}{}

Klaus stared at Luther in horror.

Luther turned the page in his book, oblivious.

“What do you mean,” Klaus asked in a low voice, “that he’s not here?”

Five never went anywhere. What were the odds that the ONE TIME Klaus needed the little goblin for something, he’d decided to hit the town?

“He went shopping,” Luther told him, engrossed in his reading. “He said something about a microwave, I think. You just missed him.”

Klaus let out a panicked whine and turned in a circle, flapping his arms.

“What am I supposed to do now?!”

Diego was at work. Dave had dragged Ben along with him to watch the Rangers practice. It was three o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon, and Klaus’s life was falling apart right before his eyes.

Luther looked up over his book, frowning slightly. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes!” Klaus cried. He pointed at the ceiling. “Someone from the mini-golf place is on the phone in Pogo’s office, and they want to talk to my boss, and _what_ am I supposed to _do?”_

Luther’s frown turned disapproving. “You guys really went through with that fake job thing?” He raised his book back up. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. Have him call them back later, I guess.”

“I can’t!” Klaus wailed. “My window of opportunity is shrinking as we speak! Do you know how competitive jobs are at the mini-golf course, Luther?”

Luther thought about it. “No?”

“Me neither, but it seems like a fun place to work!” Klaus dropped to his knees and grabbed at Luther’s book imploringly. “Luther. Luther, Luther, Luther. You have to pretend to be my boss.”

Luther lifted the book above his head, so Klaus seized him by the lapels of his coat instead.

“I can’t, Klaus,” he said. “I wouldn’t know what to say, and… Well… It’s pretty dishonest, and I really don’t—“

“Oh, NOW you don’t want to be in charge of other people?” Klaus demanded, hanging on like a rodeo rider as Luther tried to dislodge him from his clothing.

“Leaders don’t say ‘Not my problem!’ Leaders say ‘I will help you and fix everything for you and also I would be happy to take you to get milkshakes after dinner.’ THAT is what leaders say, Luther!”

Luther lifted Klaus up under the arms and tried to set him on his feet, but he let his legs turn to jelly and dove right back in.

“That is not what leaders say!” Luther told him in frustration. “That’s what mothers say to two-year-olds.”

Klaus glared up at him from where he had his arms wrapped around his knees. “I’ll scream,” he threatened.

Luther eased back into the armchair with a sigh. “Is this really that important to you?”

“Yes!”

Luther gave him a penetrating look. Klaus batted his lashes.

“Okay. Fine. I’ll… pretend I’m your boss. Just the once, though.”

Klaus moved back to let him stand and hurried him up the stairs.

“Okay,” he said as he pulled him down the hall, “you own a shoe store, I’ve worked there for fifteen years, and I am a _model_ employee. I’m hardworking and reliable, and the reason I’m leaving is because you’ve moving to Montana and the store is closing down. Your name is Chad Dimpleberry—“

Luther did an incredulous double-take.

“—twice-divorced, no children, and with a terrible, dark secret that I’ll tell you about later, but probably won’t come up with the mini-golf lady.”

He kicked open the door to the office and shoved Luther at the desk chair. It was about as effective as head-butting a freight train.

Luther took a seat, straightening out his coat and licking his lips nervously. He gazed at the phone.

“Just remember,” he warned Klaus, “that I didn’t want to do this.”

He took a deep breath and picked up. Klaus leaned forward to listen.

“Hello. Uh… Chad speaking.”

There was a pause.

“Yes,” said Luther. “I have time to talk.”

…Oh. He wasn’t going to be able to hear what the woman on the other end was saying, was he?

Fiddlesticks.

“Oh, yeah,” Luther went on. “He’s worked here for fifteen years. He’s a model employee. Just, um. Just the best.”

Klaus flashed him a thumb’s up. Luther smiled before returning his attention to the phone.

“Oh… Okay… What are his job duties? Well, he… sells shoes, mostly.”

“Inventory!” Klaus whispered.

“He sells our other inventory, too.”

Klaus buried his face in his hands. “I’m in charge of inventory!”

“Oh, he _manages_ the inventory!” Luther said in a revelatory tone. “He orders more shoes. And… socks, and… shoe accessories. He orders shoelaces.”

Klaus glared at him through his fingers. He did a lot more at this pretend business than order shoelaces. He practically kept the place imaginary-running.

Luther’s expression morphed into something like a deer in headlights as the woman talked on the other end of the line.

“Oh, yes,” he said awkwardly. “I… He has a great relationship with our vendors. Never had, uh… never had any complaints.”

He gestured to the phone in a silent plea for help, but Klaus had none to give.

Who’d have thought they would ask about Big Kid stuff like _vendors,_ just because he had lied about dealing with them? Yeesh.

“Why has he never been promoted to a manager position?” Luther echoed in a strained voice.

Klaus shook his head feebly. Because he didn’t have his Bachelor’s in Shoes? Because he couldn’t use the word ‘synergize’ in a sentence? He didn’t know!

“Good question,” Luther said slowly, in a clear bid to buy himself time. “The reason he’s never been promoted to a manager position is because… he’s too good at selling shoes. I really need him to be out selling shoes, not, uh. Not managing the store.”

Okay, well _that_ sounded fake.

Luther ran a hand through his hair.

“Oh,” he said, with a marginal amount of confidence. “He’s leaving because we’re closing down. I’m moving to Montana.”

Klaus let out a breath. With any luck, the hard part was behind them now.

“Yeah,” Luther agreed. “It _is_ beautiful. Oh. I… Yes, that… Uh. What part am I moving to?”

Klaus froze. What was in Montana? What was literally any city in Montana? What was the capitol? Who-Cares-Burg?

“The… woods?” Luther guessed.

…Good gravy. Klaus would give him an A for effort, and an F for his improv skills.

“Yeah,” Luther was saying. He sounded wrung-out. “No problem. I, um. Thanks for calling.”

He hung up.

Well.

That had gone swimmingly.

Luther folded his hands on the desk. “I don’t think that lady believed I was really your boss,” he admitted, looking sheepish.

“Oh, really? What part of that command performance do you think tipped her off?”

“I…” Luther shrugged his huge shoulders miserably. “I’m sorry. I told you I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“It’s okay,” Klaus mumbled.

He kicked at the desk. “Maybe… maybe I shouldn’t lie about working at a shoe store, anyway. Maybe I… want to get a job on my own merits?”

He looked at Luther in desperation. “Does that make sense? Do I sound crazy? Touch my forehead and tell me if I feel feverish.”

“It’s not crazy.” Luther offered him a wan smile. “I think things just mean more if you actually earn them.”

Klaus wanted to throw himself dramatically into a chair, but there was only the one in the office. So he pantomimed a fainting spell across the desk instead.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever earned anything honestly in my life.”

Luther wheeled himself back and forth in the chair with one foot.

“I don’t think I have, either,” he confided down to his hands, after a moment. “I—This feels so strange sometimes, doesn’t it? Being, like… a normal person.”

Klaus hummed at the ceiling. He didn’t know what qualified as ‘normal.’ Never had, which was maybe his problem.

What he did know was that the more he thought about it, the more sure he was that he didn’t want to lie his way into a job. He wanted to feel like he’d accomplished a thing, not gotten away with one.

He was already a master of the hoodwink, anyway. Time to switch it up.

He turned his head. “Hey.”

Luther looked up at him.

“Want to hear your dark, terrible secret?”

“Huh?”

Wariness passed over his face. It made Klaus want to plant a sloppy wet kiss on his forehead and pinch his cheeks, because Luther’s worst secret would be that sometimes his socks didn’t match.

“Oh, wait. You mean the guy you made up?”

“Chad Dimpleberry,” Klaus confirmed. “Except… You’re _not_ Chad Dimpleberry, you’re really _Gavin_ Dimpleberry, and you murdered your cousin Chad and assumed his identity!”

He fluttered his fingers and made an _‘oooh!’_ sound.

Luther rolled the chair closer. “Why’d I do that?”

He sounded mildly interested, and also like he hated himself for it.

“Well, I’m not sure yet.” Klaus crossed his legs at the knee and kicked one. “At first I thought it was because you needed to escape your debts. But then I thought, maybe you guys did a diamond heist together…”

{}{}{}{}{}

Klaus took a deep breath before stepping inside Cheetah’s Pet and Supply Emporium.

It was partially out of nerves, because this was going to be his first ever job interview.

But it was also partially out of self-preservation, because the place fucking _reeked._

He scanned the shelves of tanks and food and litter for the lady who had taken his application when he’d brought it in. They had a very unhappy customer at the dog-grooming station, howling their displeasure despite the woman trying to soothe it with treats.

“Oh my God, look at the bunnies!” Ben gasped in delight.

Klaus trailed behind him as he bolted to their enclosure. There was a suspicious puddle on the floor next to the bin of rope toys. He edged around it warily.

“They’re so cute!” Ben breathed against the plastic wall surrounding their playpen. “Can you make me physical before we leave so I can pet one? I like that one with the messed up ear, it’s like she’s looking right at me.”

Klaus rolled his eyes as Ben wriggled his fingers at a bunny who definitely could not see him. He knew he shouldn’t have let him come along for this.

“Maybe if you’re good,” he said. “Come on, I need to find the manager.”

He led them around the perimeter of the store, keeping an eye out for her. Her name had been… Magenta? Ebony? Some sort of color. Shit, he hoped she had a nametag.

“Look at this bird!” Ben exclaimed behind him.

Klaus turned and saw him peering into one of the cages, enchanted.

In the cage next to it, a pair of parakeets were having a domestic squabble over the best grape. The dog was still barking in the background.

Klaus pressed a hand to his temple. He was getting a headache.

“He’s so fat,” Ben said gleefully. “He’s such a big, fat bird.”

“You know this is an important day for me, right?” asked Klaus. “Stop body-shaming animals and give me a pep talk.”

“I bet you can’t even fly, can you?” Ben cooed. “Lil’ fatty! That’s okay, you can ride around on my shoulder.”

“I am not buying you a bird,” Klaus warned him.

“I know.” Ben stepped back from the cage with a longing look. “He’s just so fat, though.”

Klaus’s head throbbed.

They wandered towards the back, while he played over the sample interview questions they had practiced in his mind.

Strengths—fast learner, positive attitude, team player.

Weaknesses— he still thought he should say none, he was literal perfection, but Old Man Australia had told him to say that he was too much of a people-pleaser.

How he would handle a disagreement with a co-worker- Oh, FUCK, how _would_ he handle a disagreement with a co-worker? Had they ever come up with an answer to that one?!

Shitshitshitshitshiiiii—

“You know,” Ben mused from somewhere to his left, “I never really thought tarantulas were cute, but looking at them up close, they’re sort of cute? They’re kinda fuzzy.”

Klaus turned around slowly and glared at him.

Ben’s gaze stayed on the tarantula, as though he was hypnotized.

“I bet it tickles when it walks on your hand,” he murmured. “Do you tickle, buddy? Yeah, you tickle.”

A sudden movement caught Klaus’s eye, and he watched as an enormous snake entwined itself around the tree branch in its tank. He thought fleetingly of the mice they had passed up front, and shuddered.

He did not want to work here. It was loud and stinky and you had to feed animals to other animals, like some kind of wrathful nature god.

Even worse, Ben _did_ want him to work here. Ben _really_ wanted him to work here. And for all the wrong reasons.

Klaus imagined empty bedrooms at their house filled with salamanders and gerbils and parrots. An entire floor overrun by ferrets. Waking up in the morning and having to take all ten of their dogs for a walk. Cats out the ass.

He imagined Diego or Luther or even Five, someday, bringing someone special home.

 _‘Lo,’_ the mystery woman (Or man! Or mannequin? Crud, he didn’t know) would say. _‘What is that noxious odor? What is that horrid sound?’_

 _‘Pets,’_ they would explain. _‘We have many, for my brother Ben is a great lover of animals, and none but Klaus has the backbone to refuse him that which he desires.’_

 _‘I am leaving,’_ their hypothetical date would tell them. _‘For I cannot make love in a place that smells like a turtle tank and sounds like a circus whose ringmaster has lost all control. Contact me no more. Fare thee well, weirdo.’_

And she/he/it would leave, taking his brother’s last chance at love along with them.

Klaus clenched a hand at his side. Not on his watch.

“Hello! Klaus?”

A short, smiling woman had approached them while he was distracted. Her nametag said ‘Scarlet.’

“I remember we met for a few minutes last week,” she said, extending a hand. “I’m the manager here, nice to see you again. Let’s head back to my office, if you’re ready?”

Klaus looked down at her hand, and then at Ben, squatting on the floor and baby-talking a gigantic spider.

There was only one way forward.

“Thank you for calling me for an interview.” He shook Manager Scarlet’s hand. “I hate to waste your time, but I’m going to have to withdraw my application.”

“What?” cried Ben.

“Oh.” Her smile turned puzzled. “Ah. Do you mind if I ask why?”

“Yes! _Why?!”_

Klaus twirled a hand through the air. “You know, it’s just that being here for more than a minute or two, I can feel my allergies acting up? Dogs usually don’t bother me, but the dander is really doing a number on the old sinuses.”

Manager Scarlet nodded. “Gotcha. I wish I could tell you it’ll get better, but…” She shrugged. “It doesn’t.”

“You are such a liar!” Ben told him furiously. “You aren’t allergic to shit!”

“What a shame,” moaned Klaus. “My heart is breaking. Oh well, thank you kindly for your consideration!”

Out in the sweet, fresh, smoggy city air, he heaved a sigh of relief.

“What did you do that for?” Ben demanded. “That lady was super nice and it would have been like the best job ever, and you didn’t even stay to get interviewed?”

Klaus tipped his head back and let the sun warm his face. “Some things are more important than work,” he murmured skyward. “Like sanitary living conditions. And love.”

Ben stared at him, his frustration and disappointment evident in the set of his jaw. And his confusion. There was a lot of that, too.

He dropped his head and kicked at a loose bit of gravel on the ground. “All I wanted was to pet a rabbit,” he grumbled at his shoes.

Klaus gave him an indulgent smile. He’d do almost anything to make Ben happy, but this was going to be _his_ job, and it needed to be something _he_ liked, and he did not want to spend his days mopping up dog pee. Or human pee. Anything involving pee was right out, honestly.

He had his principles.

“Chin up, Benjellicleball!”

He started walking to their bus stop, careful to avoid eye contact with the bewildered ghost trying to hail a taxi from the curb. “Here, how about this—we can stop and rent a movie on the way home. Anything you want.”

Ben plodded after him, silent.

“Star Wars?” Klaus suggested in his best come-hither voice. “The other Star Wars? The other other Star Wars?”

Ben and Luther had seen _Return of the Jedi_ for the first time three months earlier, and then had seen it nine billion more times since. Ben liked to mouth everyone’s lines along with them. Luther liked to point out the inaccuracies in space travel. Klaus liked to wander into the room periodically and remind them both that they were nerds, so it was fun for the whole family.

Ben looked at him through his lashes. “Are you going to do the Yoda voice all day?”

“No.”

“Yes you are. If I pick Star Wars, you’re going to do the Yoda voice.”

Klaus turned to walk backwards, holding up his hands. “I promise on Oboe Cowboy’s grave that I won’t.”

“It’s Obi-Wan Kenobi, and you _know_ that,” Ben said in exasperation.

He jogged a few paces to catch up. “Fine, we can get Star Wars, but if you do the voice, I’ll… I’ll be really mad at you.”

Klaus bounced the rest of the way to the bus stop.

Ben could pretend it was annoying all he wanted. Deep down, he _loved_ the Yoda voice.

{}{}{}{}{}

Klaus picked his head up off his bedroom floor, and looked to where Ben was sprawled out half underneath him.

“Are you okay?” he yelled over the music.

“No!” Ben shouted back. “You kicked me in the head! Are _you_ okay?”

“God, no! My foot!” He flexed it with a wince. “Why is your skull so hard?”

Dave turned off the record on the other side of the room.

“I think that’s enough dancing for the day,” he said, making a valiant—and unsuccessful— effort not to laugh. “Let’s quit while everybody still has two eyeballs.”

A knock came at the door, and Klaus pulled himself into a sitting position on the carpet.

“Come in! Everyone’s wearing pants!”

The door opened to reveal Vanya, dressed in the white suit Allison had given her for Christmas and with her hair down around her shoulders.

“Hi, guys,” she said. “Is this… I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“Nope!” Klaus told her. “I just got done kicking Ben in the head, so there’s all my plans for the day out of the way.”

“It really hurt,” Ben muttered.

Dave scooped the armful of dirty clothes out of the chair at Klaus’s vanity. He had a deeply ingrained need to straighten up for guests, which, given the circumstances, was as unnecessary as it was adorable.

“You look nice, Vanya,” he said as he deposited them into the laundry basket. “You doing something exciting tonight?”

“I guess.” She fidgeted her hands around. “The, um. The orchestra has this big party? To thank all our donors and to start raising money for next year. I don’t usually go, but…” She shrugged, looking helpless. “First chair. So now I sort of have to.”

Klaus felt a pout coming on. _He_ wanted to go to a fancy work party.

Nobody would get shitfaced because the boss would be there, and sneaking away to do key bumps in the bathroom would be off the table entirely. He could hang out with people who hadn’t heard all of his stories yet, _plus_ there would be room to dance without inadvertently assaulting anybody.

Good clean fun right there.

Vanya was watching him with something like desperation in her face. “It’s black-tie,” she said. “I don’t, uh. Get dressed up. All that often.”

“You look good,” Klaus assured her, and Ben made a sound of agreement behind him. “Like, a really classy Prohibition-era gangster, but if they were also a dominatrix on the side.”

Ben kicked his thigh.

Vanya’s brow creased. “…Thanks?”

“ _I_ dig it. Maybe some heels? Well, no, maybe not if you aren’t used to them. It’s okay, we have time to practice for next year. I’m thinking platforms.”

She shook her head a little. “No, that’s… that’s okay. I’m good with flats.”

They looked at each other for a moment, anxious on her end and puzzled on his.

Klaus snuck a glance at Dave, who just shrugged.

“So… did you want to borrow something else?” he guessed. “Jewelry? Accessories? Oh, you know what!”

He clambered to his feet and moved to his closet. “I have this red scarf that would go great with your suit, let me just see where I—“

“I’m not good at putting on makeup,” Vanya blurted out.

Her cheeks were flushed pink. “I never wear it, really, and I need to look nice, and Allison’s not here, and my… friend I’m taking with me has to work right up until the party starts, so…”

Klaus flung himself against the closet door, a hand pressed to his heart.

“Vanya Hargreeves!” he gasped. “Are you asking me to make you over?”

“I guess?”

“I accept!” he said, voice cracking with joy. “You’ve made me the happiest man in the whole world!”

Vanya took a step backwards. “I just thought I should have, you know… normal makeup. Like normal people wear. Nothing crazy.”

Ben snorted. “And you think _Klaus_ is going to make that happen? Vanya.”

Klaus made a shooing motion at him with both hands. “Beat it, Bad News Benjamins! Go harass your cats instead of impugning my artistry.”

He spun around to Dave next. “You, too, Davey. I don’t need any beautiful distractions while I work.”

Dave saluted him with a grin and followed Ben from the room.

Klaus skipped to Vanya and spun her around to sit in the chair at his vanity table. Her reflection in the mirror chewed at her lip.

“Okay!” he said, squeezing her shoulders. “How much contouring are we shooting for here? Would you say you’re a matte girl or a glossy girl? How do we feel about a smoky eye?”

“I don’t know what half of that means,” she confessed.

Oh, boy. He had his work cut out for him.

{}{}{}{}{}

Klaus floated home on a dizzy cloud of euphoria, and barreled through the door of the living room so hard he almost fell down.

“I GOT A JOB!” he howled.

Dave’s head snapped up. Klaus had spread the newspaper out sheet by sheet across the floor for him to read before he’d left, and he was sitting cross-legged in the sports section.

“Did you?” he laughed. “That’s great, sweetheart! Mazel.”

“Congrats,” the old man ghost called out from world news.

Klaus danced across the real estate listings. “The owner says he just has to get all my paperwork together and I’m hired,” he said dreamily. “At my favorite thrift store! It’s like it’s too good to be true!”

Dave held out a hand. Klaus’s own hand glowed blue, and their fingers twined together, warm and solid.

Dave pulled him down to sit next to him. “Tell me everything.”

Klaus snuggled into him happily. “Well, there isn’t too much to tell. The only questions he asked me were when could I start and what days can I work.”

“Yeah?” Dave wrapped an arm around his waist. “I bet somebody just left without giving notice. It happens.”

“He had to fire a whole bunch of people, actually,” Klaus told him. “He said there was this clique that kept talking shit about him behind his back, so he hid a tape recorder in the break room and caught them.”

“…Oh.” Dave raised an eyebrow. “He… did that, and told you about it during your interview. Okay.”

“Yep! And then the rest was just, like, you know.” Klaus shrugged against Dave’s shoulder. “The rules and stuff for working there.”

Dave smoothed his hair back. “What rules?” he asked in a mild tone.

“Oh, basic things, pretty much.”

Klaus ticked them off on his fingers. The ones he could remember, anyway—there had been _a lot_ of rules.

“No flip-flops or shorts, no adjusting the thermostat, don’t talk about how much money you make with anybody, if you have to call out sick do it at least twenty-four hours in advance, no trading shifts with other people, bring lunch with you because you can’t leave the store once you start for the day. And… I don’t know, there was a bunch of stuff about how to request time off, but it was confusing. It was like a ten-step process.”

Dave smiled weakly. “If you can’t leave the store, I guess smoke breaks are out? That might be a dealbreaker, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I already asked about that,” Klaus told him with pride. “He said as long as I stay right out front where the cameras can see me, I can swap one of my bathroom breaks to go have a cigarette.”

The owner had been reluctant, but Klaus had presented a very compelling argument. He was three-quarters of the way through the job hunting book now, so he was aces at negotiating for benefits.

“One of your bathroom breaks,” Dave repeated.

“Yeah, you get two, but how many times do you really need to pee in eight hours?”

Dave and the old man exchanged a look across the room.

“I can hold it,” Klaus assured him.

Dave brushed a finger across his cheek, and he leaned into the touch.

“Sweetheart,” he said gently. “I know you think my advice is old-fashioned, but bad bosses are timeless. And Klaus—that guy is going to be a nightmare to work for.”

Klaus frowned down at his lap. He had… _maybe_ had an inkling that the dude was a few crayons short of a picnic basket, but he’d pushed his doubts away. He didn’t want to listen to his gut on this one. His gut was stupid.

“I really want to work there, though,” he told Dave in a small voice. “It’s like, one of my favorite places anywhere. I _love_ it.”

Dave’s smile was kind. “I think you’ll find that most jobs are only as good as the people you work with.”

Klaus buried his face in a non-bloody part of his shirt. “But the employee discount,” he said despairingly.

“Mate, it’s a bloody thrift shop,” the old man called. “You’re already getting a discount.”

Klaus whined into Dave’s (defined, absolutely scrumptious) chest.

Dave rubbed a hand up and down his back. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but I’d turn it down if I was you,” he said. “The foreman at my first welding shop was like that, and it was about the shittiest two years of my life. I used to daydream about getting into some kind of accident on my way in every day so I’d have a reason not to show up. I’d count down the hours between Friday afternoon and Monday morning until I had to go back. You don’t need that, sweetheart.”

Klaus looked up at him. “Why’d you stay so long, then?” he asked. “If it was that bad?”

Dave shrugged. “I was an apprentice at the time. Not like I had a lot of other options. I decided to quit once a week, but my mother kept telling me ‘Jobs come and go, a trade is forever.’ So I stuck it out until I certified as a journeyman, and then I told my boss to go fuck a soldering iron. If the soldering iron would have him.”

“Ha,” said the old man.

Dave smiled off into the distance. “He did _not_ give me a good reference after that. Still worth it.”

Klaus reclined against him and watched Cthulhu Cat claw the comics page to shreds on the carpet.

He still sort of wanted the job. Working at a thrift store would be _so_ freaking cash. But… Dave had a point. Maybe it was best not to seek employment at a place that would make him want to let a city bus run over his foot.

He wanted to work with nice people, anyhow. People who would laugh at his jokes and chat with him on lunch breaks. Throw each other baby showers and bring in cupcakes for birthdays. Maybe meet up for group outings on their days off, sometimes.

That was the part about Vietnam he’d liked—the camaraderie. He’d never had it before then, and he wanted it back now. Terribly.

Klaus nuzzled back into the crook of Dave’s arm. “Well, I don’t know what you’d need a reference for, anyway,” he said airily, “since you got jobs just by walking in and asking.”

Dave dropped a kiss onto the top of his head. “I should never have told you that,” he said with fondness.

{}{}{}{}{}

Klaus had the front door halfway open when the phone in the foyer rang, and he dove to answer it in a flurry of coupons.

“Hargreeves residence!”

“Hello,” a man’s voice responded. “I’m calling from Fresh 2 Go Grocery. Is Klaus available?”

He had a strange accent, kind of like a Scottish brogue, but more nasal. Maybe the grocery store was more multi-cultural than Klaus had thought. Who knew?

“Speaking!” he said eagerly.

“Pip pip, cheerio. I was just looking over your application, and I must say, I’m very impressed with your qualifications. I would like you to come in for an interview immediately. We shall send a car around to pick you up.”

Klaus blinked. Maybe he meant like… a delivery van?

“Alright,” he agreed.

“I am so impressed, in fact, that I am going to consider you for my job. I can only lift a hundred pounds, so you are clearly the better fit. I shall be your grocery bitch until I can best you at… uh… lifting shit.”

Klaus held the phone away from his ear and gave it a skeptical look. Part of him wanted to rejoice in being proven right, that being in decent shape _was_ a real skill. But a bigger part of him wasn’t a complete moron.

He brought the phone back to his ear. “What did you say your name was?”

“Lord Chucklefuckington the Fifth. Esquire.”

Klaus rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “Seriously, Diego?”

There was a burst of laughter on the other end.

“Holy shit,” Diego snickered, “I can’t believe you fell for that, you asshole!”

“I figured out it was you like thirty seconds in.”

“Yeah, but I had you for those thirty seconds, though.”

He sounded so proud of himself. Klaus almost felt that he should laugh just to be nice, like when a little kid tried to tell you a joke and mangled the punchline.

“How would they even be calling you?” Diego asked. “You didn’t drop the application off yet.”

“What?” Klaus scrunched up his face. “I dropped it off.”

“I’m holding it in my hand, dumbass. It was stuck in the couch cushions.”

…Oh. Well, that would explain why they’d never gotten back to him, wouldn’t it? All for the best, really. Now that he’d heard it read out loud, it might need a few revisions.

“I got you so good,” Diego gloated.

“Okay. Excellent work, friend-o.” Klaus stretched out a leg and toed at one of the coupons he’d dropped on the floor. “Anyway, while I have you on the phone—“

“I’m literally upstairs.”

“—would you prefer cucumber melon shea butter, or the regular kind?”

There was a brief pause on the other end. “Uh… neither? Why would I want shea butter?”

Klaus tsked. “Because you’re ashy, and I’m tired of you looking like a big yuck. And also the drugstore circular has discounts for both this week.”

“I’m not ashy,” Diego said, offended.

Klaus stooped down and began picking up his coupons. ‘Buy two, get one free’ on eyelash glue? Deal of the goddamn century.

“You really are. Roll up your sleeve and look at your arm—that is what we in the medical community call ‘ashy.’”

“I’m not ashy! Also, last I checked, watching soap operas about hospitals does not make you a member of the medical community.”

“It’s like you survived the eruption of Mount Vesuvius. And then just never took a shower.”

“I _shower!_ Why don’t _you_ shower?”

“I shower, too! And then I moisturize, as civilized people do in dry weather.”

Diego grunted. “I’m not ashy,” he grumbled. “The regular kind is fine. I still can’t believe you fell for that, you’re such a fucking moron.”

Klaus smiled into the phone. “Que lo dice lo es,” he crooned.

“What? You know I don’t speak Spa—“

Klaus hung up with a satisfying ‘click.’

{}{}{}{}{}

“…but that’s all in the past now! I’ve been off probation for almost two years, and I’ve learned that crime doesn’t pay. Plus, this is the closest 24-hour store to my house, and I know better than to shit where I buy cigarettes at 2 a.m.”

Convenient Pete snorted out a laugh.

This interview was going gangbusters, Klaus thought.

He was currently sitting on a soda crate in the dingy storage room of one of the local corner stores, having a tete-a-tete with the owner by the light of the single bulb swinging from the ceiling.

It had seemed like a setup ripped from the grungiest kind of porn at first— _Trapped in the Closet with the Boss!_ —but Convenient Pete was a nice guy, really. He had kind eyes, like Dave’s, and one of those faces you felt like you could say anything to.

So Klaus had said things. A lot of things. Probably too many things? But his possible new boss (fingers crossed!) didn’t seem put off by any of it, and oversharing was sort of Klaus’s whole deal, anyway.

“Good to know,” said Pete, his voice tinged with amusement. “But, I have to ask—You said you’ve never had a job before. Why look for one now?”

He didn’t say _‘since you must have inherited a mint,’_ but that part was implied. His store was eight blocks away from the Academy. He would know the name ‘Hargreeves’ and what it entailed.

It was a little weird to sit there pretending he wasn’t aware that Convenient Pete had clocked who he was, but Klaus leaned forward with eagerness anyway. He knew the answer to this one!

“I have a passion for household goods sold at a slight markup for the sake of convenience,” he announced proudly.

Pete smiled a little. “You can be honest.”

“I am being honest,” he promised. “I love convenience. And household goods. And man, those _markups!”_

Convenient Pete shook his head, though his eyes were crinkling with laughter at the corners again. “Well,” he said. “I wish I had your enthusiasm. Make the day go by a lot faster.”

Klaus hesitated. He was allowed to ask questions in interviews, too, wasn’t he? That’s what the book had said.

“How did you end up running this place?” He widened his eyes and held up his hands. “Just wondering. Looking for tips from a master of the trade.”

Pete shrugged. “I just sort of fell into it. It was my parents’ place, and being a DJ wasn’t working out the way I’d hoped—“ his tone had turned wry—“so I came back for a summer.”

He glanced around the storage room. “And twenty summers later, here I am.”

Twenty years. That was… a lot of 2 a.m. cigarette sales.

“But you like it, though,” Klaus pressed.

He shrugged again. “It’s a living. I could’ve done a lot worse.”

He smiled. It looked a little tired. Not unhappy. But tired.

 _‘Why look for a job now?’_ he had asked, and Klaus thought the question over, for real this time.

It… didn’t have an easy answer. Or even a single answer. It was an answer made of fleeting wishes and stray moments of inspiration and the sort of dreams you only half-remembered when you woke up, even though you were sure they’d been amazing.

Fit all those little pieces together, and the final puzzle looked like… _what_ , exactly?

Convenient Pete sat forward on his soda crate.

“Look,” he said, “I’ll level with you. One of my current employees recommended a friend of theirs, and I feel sort of obligated to give the job to them. They have a work history and they don’t have a record—no offense.”

Klaus waved his HELLO hand lazily. “None taken.”

“But. One of the girls who does overnights is about to graduate college. She hasn’t made any noises yet about leaving, but I know it’s coming.”

Pete scrutinized his face. “Might be in a month, might be in six, I don’t know. If you want, I’ll give you a call when it happens.”

Klaus raised his eyes to the shelves around them. There was a box of mouse traps stored between the stacks of toilet paper and cans of energy drinks.

He wouldn’t hate working here. It was close to home. He regularly stayed up all night for free, anyway, because sleeping was hard. There was only one cashier on at a time, so no co-workers to goof around with, but Dave or Ben could keep him company. He’d have his choice of snacks. Maybe discounted cigarettes, if he played his cards right.

The boss would be cool, and he’d get comfortable, and maybe he’d spend twenty years here, too, developing a tired-but-not-unhappy smile of his own.

It would be a perfectly normal life.

He looked at Convenient Pete.

“You know,” he said, “that’s a really nice offer, but I think I’ve almost got something else figured out. Thanks anyway!”

{}{}{}{}{}

Ben carried the pot of stew into the dining room and set it on the table, looking for all the world like a parent parading their new baby around.

“It smells good, Ben,” said Vanya.

Luther slid a napkin into place next to a plate and leaned over to take the lid off. “Yeah, wow. Really good.”

Ben glowed with pride. “I think I used too much salt,” he said modestly.

“No one cares as long as it’s food,” said Klaus, and he lunged for the pot.

Ben caught his wrist before he could reach it. “Don’t put your fingers in there! Come on, dude, that’s gross.”

“I’m so hungry! You wouldn’t let me have any bread—“

“Because you always fill up on it!” Ben snatched his other hand as he tried to sneak around him to grab a fistful of soup. "You can’t live off of crackers and ice cream forever, you need to start eating vegetables at some point or you’re going to die.”

Klaus was more focused on their grappling match than the peanut gallery, but there was a sudden cracking sound, and an alarmed gasp. A metallic clang—then the shattering of glass.

Luther set the pot’s broken lid gently on the table, and watched in silence as the shards sank into the stew.

Five stood at his elbow. “Well. Guess we’re getting take out.”

Luther rounded on him, his mouth set in the grim ‘I’m-not-angry-I’m-disappointed’ way that meant a good old-fashioned Number One lecture was coming in hot.

Five sipped at his seltzer. “I vote Chinese.”

“This is why I keep saying you shouldn’t jump into rooms like that,” Luther said, aggrieved. “It surprises people, and now dinner is ruined, and Ben worked on it all afternoon, and…”

He blinked, seeming to have just realized what he was saying. “Oh. Uh… Sorry, Ben.”

“It’s okay.” Ben smiled, but it was half-hearted at best. “Too much salt, so. We’re probably not missing much.”

Five jumped into his chair. “I’m hardly responsible for you having the startle reflex of a baby deer,” he said dismissively. He kicked the leg of Vanya’s chair. “We’ll get dumplings and share them.”

 _God._ Dumplings. Baby deer. Klaus would eat a paper towel with ketchup on it at that point.

He looked down into the stew. It did smell pretty amazing.

“Don’t let anybody else take one this time,” Five was saying.

“Well… it was one of mine, though,” said Vanya. “I wouldn’t give yours away.”

“It’s the principle of the thing. If Diego wants dumplings, he can quit pretending that he’s above fried food and get his own. I didn’t see him offering to share his broccoli with anyone, anyway.”

Klaus couldn’t take any more.

He grabbed a roll out of the bread basket. “I’m going in.”

“Don’t you eat that, boy,” the old man warned from over by the windows.

Klaus dipped the roll into the broth and took a savage bite out of it, staring him dead in the eye.

Ben watched with some concern, though he didn’t try to take it away. “Uh… Yeah, bro, he’s probably right.”

“Who’s right?” wondered Luther. “You know that you’re eating glass, don’t you?”

Klaus tipped his head back and moaned rapturously at the ceiling. “Oh my God,” he said around a mouthful of bread. “Oh my God, I’m leaving Dave for this stew. Five stars for you, Ben. No notes.”

Ben ducked his head bashfully. “It’s not _that_ good.”

Klaus pulled the pot closer. “Everyone leave! You’re interrupting our wedding night.”

Luther was eyeing Ben and his beaming smile. After a second, he visibly slumped in resignation.

“Okay,” he said. He took a roll of his own and tore it in half, then toyed with the pieces. “I guess we should eat what we can so it doesn’t go to waste.”

He was very obviously trying to talk himself into it, but his eyes widened with surprise after his first bite.

“Oh.” He took a second, less cautious bite. “This is… really good, actually.”

If Ben had still had bodily fluids, he might have wet himself with delight.

Vanya stood on her tip-toes at the other end of the table. “Yeah?” She ran her bottom lip through her teeth, gaze fixed on the stew. “I guess the glass sank to the bottom.”

Five shot her A Look, and she hunched her shoulders up around her ears.

“I usually eat dinner a lot earlier than this,” she half-whispered in apology.

She tried some stew juice, and then Luther tried some more, and then Klaus pushed _all_ the limits by scooping out a chunk of beef to cram into the middle of his third roll, and finally Five deigned to take a small bite when ten minutes had passed and none of them had died of internal bleeding.

“Brav-fucking-o.” The old man’s eyes were narrowed to slits as he glowered at Vanya, who was happily ignorant of his ghostly disapproval. “This one _knows_ better. Reckon you’re proud of yourself.”

Klaus swallowed his danger beef. “Very!” he agreed.

The door opened and Diego marched in with a bakery box, his cheeks flushed pink from the cold. An invisible Dave followed at his heels.

Diego dropped the box unceremoniously on the table. “Sugar and carbs,” he announced, making no effort to keep the judgement from his voice.

“He ate three cookies on the drive over here,” Dave told Klaus and Ben.

Allison paused in the doorway, trying to untangle her scarf. “They didn’t have any of those almond pastry things,” she said, “so we got a sampler. I tried one of the little chocolate clusters already, they’re delicious.”

Klaus strutted circles around the table with a chunk of bread in each hand. “So is the stew!” he said. “Just watch out for the glass.”

Diego squinted down into the pot. “Why’d you put glass in it?” he asked Ben.

“Excellent question,” Five said disdainfully. “Why _did_ you spend half the day making dinner, and then intentionally put glass in it, Ben? It doesn’t make sense.”

Diego frowned at him, like he suspected he was being mocked.

Luther offered a roll to Allison, who hesitated.

“You don’t have to eat it,” Ben assured her, aglow with happiness. “It’s probably a bad idea. And I think it’s too salty, anyway.”

Allison took the roll. The old man cursed loudly.

“I like your pants,” Vanya told her as she carefully dipped it into the broth.

Klaus stopped mid-lap and looked over the table. Allison’s pants were very familiar, and very, very purple.

He gasped. “Thief! _J’accuse!”_

Allison smiled at him. “Oh, are these yours?” She stretched out a leg. “They were in your room, but they weren’t locked in a safe, so I figured they were up for grabs.”

Klaus put his hands on his hips. “Yes, alright, I’ve tasted my own medicine and it’s bitter. Now give them back, because I really like those!”

“I will,” she said. “After I turn them into shorts. Or spill coffee on them. Or maybe I’ll just forget them on the bus, who knows?”

Luther gave her a bemused smile. “Why would you take your pants off on the bus?”

Klaus took a sulky bite out of his roll. They looked really good on her. Where did she get off being so tall and pretty? What a witch.

Dave phased his fingers through Klaus’s elbow. “Everyone’s here,” he murmured in his ear. “Ready to share your news?”

Klaus brightened up. He’d almost forgotten!

Klaus dropped his sodden roll onto a plate and seized a drinking glass and a fork.

“Attention, please!” he called, clinking them together. “I have an announcement!”

Once everyone was looking at him, he clapped his hands together.

“So, as I think you all know, I’ve been looking for work. But I did some soul-searching, and I decided that instead of settling for any old job, I’m going to create my _own_ opportunity.”

“Which means what, exactly?” Diego asked dubiously.

Klaus bounced on his toes in excitement. “It means that sometimes you have to spend money to make money, and I’m investing in myself.”

Vanya paled. “Oh, Klaus,” she cried, stricken. “Did you buy into a pyramid scheme?”

“Even better!” He flung out his arms theatrically. “I’m going to beauty school!”

His announcement was met with silence.

Huh. He’d been picturing more applause. Maybe some confetti.

“Beauty school!” he tried again.

“Good on you, boy,” said the old man. “Study hard and stop eating glass.”

Allison’s eyes darted around the room. When it became clear nobody else was going to respond, she smiled a little. “Well… Okay, cool. That’ll be fun.”

“Stop calling it beauty school, though,” Ben said as he sat down at the table. “It’s cosmetology school. They told you that, like, five hundred times at the open house.”

Diego looked up from the cookie he was pretending not to enjoy. “Open house?”

“Oh, yeah. We went to one last week, but I decided not to go to that school.” Klaus waved a hand. “There’s this other place whose students have a way higher pass rate on the state licensing exam, so, you know. Kind of a no-brainer.”

Five swallowed his seltzer, watching Klaus’s face. “You actually looked into this.”

“Of course I did.” Klaus crossed his arms over his chest. “What? You all thought I just decided on this in the last five minutes?”

“No,” Vanya said quickly, while at the same time Luther admitted, “Sort of.”

Diego licked a sprinkle off his thumb. “Congratulations,” he said. “Or good luck. Or… whatever.”

Klaus flushed with pleasure. Diego was always so supportive.

“Thanks!”

There were other vague well-wishes, and then they all moved on to a fight to the death over where to order dinner from.

Dave tickled his finger through Klaus’s elbow again.

“Maybe they’ll get more excited about it later.” He smiled. Eyes soft, face full of pride. Klaus’s stomach swooped. “I’m excited now, though. You’re gonna fucking kill this, sweetheart.”

Klaus grinned at him. He could forgive his siblings’ lack of enthusiasm (though he wouldn’t forget it when he was a successful beautician and they all needed their hair done for prom!) for the time being. He had a poor track record at following through with things, after all.

This was going to be different, though. This was a goal worth chasing, and when he thought of the future, he saw it full of bright and wonderful things.

And maybe a quick pit stop at the hospital.

He was about ninety percent sure he’d just swallowed a sliver of glass.

**Author's Note:**

> I have decided that my real OTP in this fandom is Klaus/bargains. Like, he doesn't even care what it is, if it's buy one, get one, he's buying six of those MFs. Can't afford to miss out on a good deal in this economy!


End file.
